Chapter 25 #2
“I had this internship my senior year of college,” Talula found herself saying. “I worked part-time at a Michelin-starred restaurant in the city.”
“Really?” Dahlia leaned closer.
“Yeah.” Talula felt her face relax a little.
“It was the hardest work I’ve ever done.
The visiting chef was just one of those brilliant, crazy people.
She did things like roast whole pigs based on an ancient Mesopotamian recipe.
One time she brought over a bunch of chickens and just let them hang out on the restaurant patio so she could always have fresh eggs.
They wound up on the roof a lot; somebody wrote about it in the Chronicle. ”
Talula realized, strangely, that her time at the restaurant was the last time she felt close to her magic. Even if all she could do was summon witchfire, it had never been easier. Until Kiki’s cookbook.
Talula continued, “The chef would invite me to go with her to the farmers’ market at the crack of dawn.
She’d chat with the vendors and get so many genius menu ideas from whatever was in season.
But she was only there for the summer, then moved on to the next restaurant, the next city.
Kyoto that fall, then Florence.” Talula took a breath.
“She wanted me to go with her when I graduated. Be her apprentice.”
“But you didn’t go?” Dahlia sounded like she didn’t quite believe the question she was asking.
Talula shook her head.
“What?” Dahlia gasped.
“It’s no big deal,” Talula said, surprised at Dahlia’s reaction. “My mom needed help. I couldn’t be a chef and, um, learn the family business.”
“Did you even tell your mom about this opportunity?” Dahlia asked tensely.
Talula shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Because I knew I couldn’t have it!” Talula snapped, though she couldn’t say whom she was angry at. “Just like I can’t have friends or a relationship, because I’ll always be the weird witch kid—”
She clamped her teeth down before the words “with a Magical Destiny” could slip between her lips. Instead, Talula just stared at Dahlia, rage and despair crashing inside her in warring waves.
“Hey,” Dahlia said, getting out of her booth seat to sit next to Talula. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” Talula stared down at her plate. “I’m sorry for snapping.”
You’re a grown woman who just threw a temper tantrum, Talula thought miserably.
Another voice in her mind whispered, Maybe you have something to tantrum about.
Dahlia fidgeted, adjusting the satiny decorative pillows between them. “Can I just say one more thing? As someone who wants to see you happy?”
Talula nodded.
“I think you’re afraid of what you want because you’re scared someone will tell you no. So you tell yourself no first. Because it’ll hurt less.”
The truth of it stung.
Dahlia continued, “You have friends who care about you and want to be there for you. But if you don’t tell them what you want, what you need, they can’t help you get it. Look at Emilio and Anna. They didn’t hesitate to help with the Magic Box tonight. And then, you know, there’s me.”
Talula looked at Dahlia then, her depthless brown eyes crinkled at the corners, glitter still winking in the creases.
“I’d do anything for you,” Dahlia said simply. “Okay?”
Like it was a normal thing to say. Like it didn’t make Talula’s heart swell with hope and helium.
“Okay,” she said. Then, terrified of what raw truth Dahlia might see in her eyes, Talula turned her head away. For a few long seconds, they sat in a strange, tight quiet, close enough to touch but still, just too far.
“Great. Okay. Good.” Dahlia cleared her throat. “Because, we’re friends. And, one day, we’ll do a road trip from here to Baja.”
“A road trip?” Talula asked, puzzled.
Dahlia shrugged. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”
Talula managed to jokingly demand, “I’m not going unless we take your convertible.”
The tension broke as Dahlia laughed. “Of course!”
They spent the rest of dinner fantasizing about their road trip.
Dahlia talked about ghost towns she wanted to see; Talula shared social media feeds of restaurants along their dreamed-up route.
Dahlia never went back to her side of the booth, sitting at an angle so she could face Talula while they chatted.
They talked until Kanishka dropped their check at closing.
“Thanks, Kanishka.” Dahlia pulled out her card before Talula could make a move. When Kanishka came back with the receipt, Dahlia told the waitress, “You should come to Pine Hollow tomorrow. Have you heard of the Magic Box performances? Or the Samhain festival?”
For the first time that night, Kanishka perked up. “The Satan thing? That shit seems cool.”
“It’s not a Satan thing.” Talula stared the young woman down. “It’s a celebration that’s under attack by bigots who are demonizing me and my community.”
“Yeah! What she said!” Dahlia echoed in solidarity, eyes dancing.
“Whoa, I’m sorry.” Kanishka withered under Talula’s glare. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I swear.”
“You can make it up to her by bringing your social followers to the show tomorrow. Or I’ll tell your auntie you offered less than hospitable service,” Dahlia threatened, her pen poised menacingly over the receipt’s tip line.
“You know I haven’t been hospitable one day in my whole fucking life!” Kanishka cried.
“Then you’d better bring the whole squad.”
“No one says ‘squad’ anymore.” Kanishka eyed Dahlia’s pen, still hovering over the receipt. “Jesus Christ. Fine. I’ll do it. But you have to write a nice review mentioning me specifically.”
“Excellent!” Dahlia proceeded to tip forty percent.
Talula fell asleep in the car on the way home, the aroma of curry and naan clinging comfortingly to her skin. She came to when something pressed against her cheek—it felt so light, like a fingertip or a kiss or a dream. Blearily, she opened her eyes. They were home.
“Thanks for the ride. And dinner,” Talula said.
“Anytime.” Dahlia had a strange, strained smile on her face as she watched Talula unbuckle her seat belt.
Talula stepped out into the cold evening mist, closing the convertible door behind her.
“Talula, wait,” Dahlia called. She scrambled to get out of the driver’s seat, walking to where Talula stood on the sidewalk. “I need to say something to you.”
Talula’s pulse picked up. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Nothing.” Dahlia’s face was serious under the hazy streetlight.
She wrung her hands. “There’s just something I need to say.
I’ve been saying it indirectly for a while now, but I haven’t been straightforward.
Not as straightforward as I could have been, probably because I’m really, really scared of making things weird between us. But I need to say it.”
“Dahlia,” Talula said softly. “I never want you to be scared to tell me things.”
Dahlia sucked in a deep breath. “Just, promise me no matter what, we can still try to be friends? You won’t push me away or disappear on me?”
Talula gave a solemn nod. “I promise.”
“Okay.” Dahlia nodded, eyes wide as a lamb’s. “So, here it is.”
Talula waited, unable to speak for the thick tangle of hope and dread in her throat.
“I like you,” Dahlia said. “Romantically. A lot.”
There was a dreamlike quality to Talula’s brain as she watched Dahlia’s face and processed her words. Like the edges of reality didn’t quite match up to what was really happening. For some reason, Talula asked, “Since when?”
“Since the beginning!” Dahlia laughed. “I couldn’t write for shit those first few weeks, couldn’t you tell?
I just kept staring at you when you weren’t looking.
And the more I got to know you, the more I wanted to spend time with you.
” Dahlia swallowed. She rubbed at her chest, just below her collarbone.
“I feel this light, right here, when you’re around.
Like I’m in the dark until you smile at me.
And I need you to know, because I think… ”
Talula’s heart was bashing against her ribs like it wanted to leap out of her body and right into Dahlia’s hands.
“I think you like me, too.” Dahlia locked eyes with Talula.
“But there’s something going on. Because I’ve almost asked you out, like, five times, and every time I get close I can feel you tense up.
At first, I thought you were scared of hurting my feelings because you didn’t feel the same.
But lately, I think you’re actually scared of how you feel. About me.”